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CHAPTER 7. Cold rain drizzled over Paenther’s head, running in rivulets down his bare chest and beating on the shackles he still wore as he ran through the dark






Cold rain drizzled over Paenther’s head, running in rivulets down his bare chest and beating on the shackles he still wore as he ran through the dark, wet fields. He’d run several miles already but wasn’t stopping until he had gone at least a few more. Around his shoulders, he’d draped the unconscious witch.

She’d told him the shackles could be used to call him back, and though he had reason to doubt everything she said, he was taking no chances.

Running from that place, and his chance to save Vhyper, was possibly the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he’d be no use to Vhyper or anyone else if Birik caught him and chained him again.

He wondered how long he’d been out of it between the blood ritual and the Daemon demonstration. He could have sworn it was night during the first, but as he’d escaped the cave, the sky had been purple with dusk. Had he lost another entire day? And how many more days on top of that since the witch dragged him down to her lair?

He followed the now-dark road but took care to remain out of sight of it. Half-dressed, wearing shackles, and carrying an unconscious young woman, he’d draw far more attention than he wanted from the humans and would be easy prey for the Mage if they came after him. His first goal was to find a phone and call Lyon.

And find a knife. He had yet to attract draden, but it was only a matter of time. There were no swarms this far from the Radiant, thank the goddess, but the occasional rogue draden could be found anywhere. Sooner or later, if there were any in the area, they’d find him.

As he approached a dark farmhouse, he decided a little breaking and entering was his only alternative.

He laid Skye within a cluster of trees on the hillside and pressed his thumb into her slender neck to make sure she stayed fully unconscious. He stared down at her damp, delicate face, emotions warring inside him. He hated her for reeling him in, for making him believe she was in need of his sympathy and protection when she was really just a conniving bitch. But even as he knew what she was, her fragile beauty tugged at him.

Paenther scowled and rose, turning away from the siren who enchanted him even in her sleep. What he’d told her was true. If it was the last thing he did, he’d get his revenge.

He approached the house with catlike stealth, frustrated he couldn’t actually shift into his cat. No scent of dog reached his nose, which boded well for keeping his arrival a secret. When he found the back door unlocked, he slipped inside, palmed a kitchen knife from the wood block on the counter, and grabbed the phone.

He punched in Lyon’s number, praying his chief would answer the call.

“Hello? ”

“It’s Paenther.” He kept his voice low on the off chance there was actually someone in the house.

“Thank the goddess. Where are you? ”

“Good question.” Looking around, he found a magazine lying on the counter and read off the address.

“Tighe and Jag have been in the mountains looking for you for the past two days.”

“Tighe’s clone? ”

“Is dead. Tighe’s fine.”

Paenther closed his eyes, sending a prayer of thanks skyward. “That’s the best bit of news I’ve gotten in days. What about Foxx? ”

“He’s here. What’s the situation? Do you need additional backup? ”

“No. The attack is going to have to wait. I’m wearing Mage shackles and can’t go near the place without risk of enthrallment.”

“Then I’ll send Tighe and Jag to pick you up.”

“Roar, I’m not alone. I’ve got the witch who captured me. We have some unfinished business, ” he added darkly.

Lyon was silent for several moments. “The last thing we need is another witch in this house.”

“She needs to be interrogated.”

Silence, then a low growl. “Bring her in, but I want her hands tied at all times. And you’ll have to be cleared of any possible enchantment when you get in. All of you. You want me to call Evangeline? ”

“Yes.” Evangeline had been his sexual partner of choice for decades. Their relationship had never extended beyond the sex, though that was his fault. He had no softness to give a woman anymore, thanks to Ancreta.

“I’ll call the Shaman. I believe he knows a binding spell to keep your witch from practicing her magic. And he may know of a way to get you out of those shackles. Hold on, Kara’s got Tighe on her cell phone.” He repeated the address Paenther had given him. “They’re about an hour north of there, B.P. He’ll find you. We’ll regroup here.”

“Agreed.”

Paenther replaced the phone in its cradle, left the house as quietly as he’d arrived, and went to retrieve Skye. As he climbed the hill to the trees where he’d left her, he heard the low growl of a dog. His heart lurched. He’d left Skye unconscious, unprotected.

But the dog, a medium-sized mutt, was curled up beside her. As if protecting her.

“Go! ” he shouted softly to the dog. The animal jumped up and barked at him. Paenther went feral, baring his teeth. The dog turned tail and ran.

Even unconscious she drew the animals. Looking down at her, at the dress plastered against her too-slender body, he couldn’t deny he struggled against the same need to protect her. When he thought the mutt had hurt her, he’d been furious.

Paenther scowled. Even unconscious she wove her spell around him. Protect her, hell. All he wanted to do was hurt her.

Except that wasn’t true.

Maybe once he was free of the shackles, he’d be able to see her clearly at last. He’d be able to see the cunning, calculating bitch who’d played on his sympathies and pretended to be beaten and vulnerable so he’d fuck her and help her raise the power to free those abominations.

He settled onto the ground beside her, leaning back against one thick oak trunk, where he had sight of the road and could watch for Tighe’s white Land Rover.

Reaching for her instinctively, he stopped and pulled his hand back, fighting the urge to pull her onto his lap and hold her against the rain. Even knowing what she was, he felt this need to touch her, to hold her.

Which made him hate her even more.

He would get his retribution. Goddess help him, he would. She’d rue the day she’d turned those sad, blue eyes on him and pulled him under her spell.

 

“Panther-man, ” Jag drawled, thrusting out his arm and slapping his forearm to Paenther’s as each man grasped the other’s wrist in the traditional greeting. “Glad to see you made it out of there, Geronimo.”

Paenther nodded, then turned to Tighe. As one, they embraced. Little emotion ever escaped past the fury that consumed his life, but he felt a relief to see his old friend that went all the way to his soul.

“You finally got that clone.”

“Hell, yeah.” Tighe pulled back. Sharp, warm emotion glittered in his eyes. “We’ve been looking for you for days.”

He didn’t have to say the words for Paenther to know they’d feared he was dead.

“How long have I been gone? I lost track of time in that place.”

“About six days.” He nodded at Skye, still lying asleep in the grass. “Is that the witch? ”

“That’s her.”

Tighe scowled. “Do we really want to bring another one of those things in the house? ”

“I’m not leaving her behind. But we need to tie her hands. Got any rope? ”

Tighe flicked his hand at Jag. “Give me your belt.”

Jag grunted but unfastened the belt on his camouflage pants and tossed it over. Paenther knelt in the wet grass beside Skye and tied her arms behind her back. Mage generally couldn’t enchant a Feral or Therian without the direct touch of their hand. This one had claimed she couldn’t do even that, but he didn’t trust her.

As he slung her over his shoulder, an attractive brunette slid out of Tighe’s SUV and joined them. When Tighe slid his arm around her shoulder, Paenther lifted a brow. He’d heard Tighe had taken a human as his mate, but he’d thought it was only to keep her from betraying him while he used her to capture his clone.

“This is Delaney, B.P.”

The woman extended her hand to him, and he shook it, impressed by her fearless, straightforward attitude. He wasn’t exactly the most docile-looking of males. None of the Ferals were.

Paenther nodded to her. “It’s dangerous out here for a human.”

The woman smiled, her sharp gaze meeting his own. “Turns out I’m no longer human. No longer mortal, anyway.”

Paenther’s surprised gaze swiveled to Tighe.

Tighe grinned. “It’s true. But it’s a long story. Let’s get—”

“Draden, ” Jag warned. “A tiny little flock of them.”

Sure enough, half a dozen of the fiends were descending from the sky. Paenther grabbed the knife he’d taken from the farmhouse and plucked out the hearts of the ones that came near him as his friends dispatched the others.

“Let’s get out of here before more find us, ” Tighe said, closing his switchblade. Paenther carried the unconscious witch to the SUV and laid her in the cargo area in back, then climbed in beside Jag while Delaney took the front seat beside Tighe. If Skye woke, he’d be ready to grab her before she could touch anyone.

The last thing he needed was her enchanting more Ferals. Not when he suspected he was still under her spell.

 

Even before she was fully awake, Skye’s heart began to pound like a hammer on an anvil. She was lying on her side, yet moving, the low hum of an engine tight against her ear. A car.

This couldn’t be happening. Birik would never let her go. Yet clearly, somehow, she’d escaped the cavern.

In a rush of memory, it all came back. She’d tried to free Paenther, and he’d grabbed her, knocking her out.

He’d captured her.

As his last words rang in her ears, her stomach cramped with fear. Do you really think I’d leave you behind, witch? When all I can think of is taking my revenge on you?

Skye began to tremble, perspiration dampening her back. Slowly, carefully, she opened her eyes to find herself swallowed by a darkness punctuated by flashes of light from the windows above.

“How’s Foxx? ”

Paenther’s voice rumbled close by, the sound strangely comforting even as it filled her with dread. He was furious with her, convinced everything she’d told him was a lie. Vhyper had told her as much.

If she could ever convince him she wasn’t his enemy, that she hated Birik more than he did, she felt in her heart he’d help her again, just as he had that night Birik attacked her.

But if not…

Her mouth turned to dust. If not, she was going to suffer.

“Foxx is fine, ” a male voice replied from the front of the car. “He avoided capture though they managed to slam him with some kind of confusion spell. He couldn’t remember where he’d lost you.”

A third man grunted. The one directly in front of her. “It took three fucks to clear him of the magic.”

“Watch your language around my mate, Jag, ” the man in front warned.

A low sound of warm feminine laughter erupted, also from the front, a sound Skye might have found pleasing if she weren’t so frightened.

“Six years with the FBI. Believe me, I’ve heard worse. I’ve said worse. But I’m still having a hard time believing sex cures magical enchantment. That sounds like a line if I ever heard one. Right up there with, But honey, it’ll make your acne go away.”

“It’s during—” the man began.

“I know, I know, ” the woman replied. “It’s during the moment of sexual release that the mind and body are most open.” She made a sound that was half humor, half sigh. “I don’t really doubt it’s true. It’s just one of a hundred things I’m having trouble wrapping my human mind around.”

“You know, D, after being in the car with a witch…” The man’s voice trailed off suggestively.

The woman laughed, that same sultry burst of air. “As if you needed an excuse.” Her voice was rich with warmth and deep with affection.

Skye blinked into the darkness. How long had it been since she’d heard such affection between two people? She and Lucian had spoken to one another like that once, years ago. She’d barely been full grown when they’d fallen in love behind Birik’s back. But then Inir had come and Lucian’s eyes had turned as cold as the others’ and he’d decided hurting her was more fun than loving her.

“We’re all going to need a good fuck after riding with the witch, ” the one called Jag drawled. “Ever taken two cocks at once, FBI? I’m not real particular which hole I shove mine into.”

The driver’s growl turned deep and vicious. The car swerved, rolling Skye onto her back as the smell of blood suddenly filled the air.

“Tighe, drive, ” Paenther barked.

“Then rip his throat out for me, ” Tighe snarled.

“Jag…” Paenther’s voice was as hard granite, yet laced with a deep frustration. “That’s too far, even for you.”

“Just making conversation.” No hint of remorse warmed Jag’s words. If anything, a note of smug satisfaction rang in his tone. But she felt the animal inside him, the jaguar, and heard him howl softly as if in pain.

Instinctively, her mind reached out to him, trying to offer comfort. But the animal turned on her, hissing.

Jag growled low in his throat swinging around to stare down at her with malice in his eyes. “Your witch is fucking with my animal.”

Skye scrambled to sit up, pressing her back against the hatch door, the beat of her heart turning erratic. Paenther might wear shackles that kept him from shifting, but the other men in this car didn’t. And the animals inside them were huge, fierce felines, every one.

Paenther turned as well, his face shadowed, his displeasure palpable.

She tensed out of long habit, bracing for the strike of a fist.

None came.

“Stop it, Skye. Stop screwing with their animals.”

She stared at him, at the anger in his eyes. Anger, but no violence. At least not yet.

“I…didn’t mean to, ” she said quietly.

“She has a way with animals, ” Paenther said coldly. “She slaughters them.”

Skye opened her mouth to object, then closed it again as Paenther continued.

“And dances in their blood.”

She pressed her lips together, the knot in her chest tightening. She couldn’t argue that she danced in their blood. And while she never killed her creatures, there was no denying she led them to the slaughter. Even if it destroyed something inside her every time.

How could she ever convince him that she did none of it willingly? He’d already made up his mind against her. She felt his animal sense her and give welcome, his silent purr a balm to her quaking heart.

But Jag’s animal was still hissing and a third cat—a tiger, maybe? —didn’t seem to be much happier about her presence. Why? Animals always greeted her. Why not these? Was the men’s animosity toward her affecting the animals inside them? Or maybe she simply didn’t have a way with animals that were also men.

Except the one inside Paenther.

As Jag turned back around, she met Paenther’s warning gaze, briefly, before turning to look out the windows. There was nothing she could do, either way. She couldn’t control their animals any more than she could control the men themselves.

Fear lived and breathed inside her as her distracted gaze took in the vast array of vehicles, and the buildings lit with a thousand lights. For the first time in her adult life, she was free of the cavern.

Free of the slaughter.

The realization swept over her on a deep tide of relief and anxiety. Her precious creatures were safe, at last. She wasn’t. Birik’s reach was long. She’d thwarted him, escaping without meaning to, and there would be hell to pay. The thought of it trembled inside her, but not even fear could dull the warmth in her heart of knowing her creatures would never again suffer because of her.

Whatever happened, she could not allow the Ferals to send her back.

The scenery passed, the office buildings giving way to houses and rolling roads, and finally to a long, circular driveway that told her they’d reached their destination. Feral House, she’d heard it called. The home of the Feral Warriors.

It sat at the back of the drive, a magnificent three-story brick house with black shutters at the windows and dormers tucked under the roofline. The windows were ablaze with light, giving the house a look of warmth and welcome that reminded her with bitter longing of the house, the Mage stronghold, where she’d lived as a child.

Any appearance of warmth was an illusion. There would never be any welcome at Feral House for her.

Along the edges of the drive were parked an array of cars, everything from low-slung sports cars to unremarkable sedans.

The car came to a stop, the hum of the engine going silent as the men and the woman flung open the doors and escaped into the night, slamming the doors behind them.

Skye scooted toward the seat backs as the door behind her lifted. Paenther’s hard and shadowed face stared down at her as he reached in and gripped her arm, hauling her out of the car and depositing her on her bare feet. She stood in the light coming from the windows of the well-lit house, her hands tied behind her, trembling. As the cool breeze tugged and pulled at the skirt of her dress, she watched Paenther reach up and pull down the hatch, the muscles of his bare arms and torso flexing.

He was a beautiful creature. Strong. Powerful. If he decided she needed to die, she’d be dead in the heartbeat of his choosing. He turned and came to her with a dangerous catlike grace that drew her even as it scared her. Never had she wanted to be this man’s enemy.

He grabbed her arm again without meeting her gaze, his jaw hard as granite, and led her up the brick walk as if she were a prisoner on her last journey. She wondered, briefly, despondently, if she’d ever again breathe the night air.

The couple she assumed were Tighe and his mate waited for them to catch up. Tighe was handsome in a classic sort of way, with his short blond hair and hard, unfriendly eyes. The woman was beautiful, with her dark hair and confident bearing. She watched Skye with an assessing, curious gaze.

“Interesting eyes, ” she murmured. “Are those copper rings what make them Mage eyes? ” She turned and looked up at her husband.

“They are, but some Mage can hide the copper. This one did when she trapped Paenther.” The raw disgust in his voice flayed her.

Finally, after so many years, she was among others with souls. Others capable of honor and self-sacrifice. Of love and kindness. But none of that kindness would be turned toward her. Because she was a Mage. The enemy. And the Feral Warriors were well-known to be merciless to their enemies.

Paenther ushered her through the front door and into the warm interior of an extraordinary house. There were luxuriously appointed apartments within the caverns where she’d lived all these years, the apartments of Birik and his sorcerers, but she rarely visited them and never willingly. She’d preferred her own rustic cell, or the woods, where she’d been left alone.

But her gaze focused on the grandeur before her with wonder. The foyer glowed brilliantly with light, nearly blinding her as her gaze took in the beauty of the high, three-story room. Stairs curved upward from either side, while high above them hung a huge crystal chandelier the likes of which she’d never seen. The walls were covered in richly decorated papers, gilt-framed paintings of flowers and animals positioned elegantly upon them. The largest of the paintings was on the floor beneath her feet, a portrayal of a forest filled with naked men and women and all manner of creatures that no longer existed, if they ever had.

Skye jerked at the sound of footsteps and looked up to find three people rushing into the foyer—two more large Ferals striding purposefully, towering over the blond female between them.

“Paenther! ” the woman cried, smiling with such relief, Skye wondered if this were Paenther’s mate. “We were so worried.” But as she started forward, the largest of the men, a man with a commanding face and thick waves of golden hair, held her back.

“Lyon…” the blond complained.

“Easy, Kara. He’s caught a witch.”

Kara’s blue eyes swung to her, flaring with wariness and no small amount of hostility. The female pressed herself back against the big man as his arm went around her protectively.

This man was clearly the woman’s mate. Strangely, foolishly, Skye was glad.

The woman’s wary gaze returned to Paenther. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thank you, Radiant.”

Holding the woman against him, Lyon reached for Paenther and clasped arms with him, his expression deep and warm and moving. “I’m glad to have you back, B.P.”

The man beside him greeted Paenther in the same way. He said nothing, but the relief in his pale eyes was clear. When he released Paenther, he looked at her, his eyes going cold as a snowy day as he plucked at his goatee.

“She’s tugging at my animal.”

“And mine, ” Lyon said, pinning her with a look sharp enough to cut before lifting his gaze to Paenther. “The Shaman’s on his way. I want her locked up until he gets here.”

“Agreed.”

“Evangeline and Genovia are on their way as well. I want everyone in that car cleared immediately.” Lyon’s gaze swung to Tighe. “You and Delaney can clear one another.”

Tighe grinned as he pulled the dark-haired woman against him, the dimpled smile turning his hard face rakish as he visibly inhaled the scent of her hair. “If I have to.”

The woman elbowed him gently, making him laugh.

Lyon’s gaze swung to the man with the cold eyes. “Kougar, you and Jag keep an eye on Paenther until we know whether he’s still enthralled.” His gaze came back to Paenther. “Get rid of her cantric, if you haven’t already.”

Skye blanched. All Mage were implanted with the braided copper circle upon maturity. The cantric acted as a magic focuser and accelerator. Usually it was implanted deep in the flesh of the buttocks, where it wouldn’t be seen except by another Mage. But hers wasn’t in her buttocks.

“You can’t, ” she said quietly.

“The hell we can’t.” Lyon turned on her with eyes filled with such venom she reared back, right into Paenther. His arm went around her middle, pulling her tight against his chest.

A deep, lion’s growl erupted from Lyon’s throat. “You’re ours now, witch, and we’ll do whatever we damn please. The death of one Mage won’t upset the balance of the natural world.” Lyon lifted that hard gaze to Paenther. “Lock her up. I’ll call you and Jag when the women get here. As soon as you’re cleared, we’ll meet in the war room.”

Paenther released her, took her arm again, and pulled her down the hall to a doorway, then down a long, long flight of stairs.

“Paenther.” She swallowed hard. “I’m not your enemy. If I were, I wouldn’t have helped you escape.”

His hand tightened around her upper arm. “I don’t want to hear it.” His voice was like ice.

“I hate Birik as much as you do. More! I hate him more.”

He jerked her, making her lose her balance, but his too-tight grip kept her from falling. “Silence.”

With a mounting feeling of dread, she did as he commanded. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he led her down a long passage lit by electric sconces hung on the walls. They walked past a dark room before Paenther led her into a large, well-lit room with ultramodern workout equipment at one end.

She wondered if they’d rigged up the exercise machinery to turn this into some kind of torture chamber, but Paenther never slowed as he pulled her through the large room until he reached a glass wall at the far end. Set into the glass was a door.

Paenther pushed her through into a long, narrow passage that appeared to have been cut out of the rock. The stone was cold beneath her feet. Finally, the passage opened to a wide, rustic prison block, each cell separated from the next by thick stone walls.

Her stomach cramped at the realization that this was to be her fate. For how long? Would she ever again see the light of day?

So many times, Birik had imprisoned her. But she’d always known all she had to do to be set free was cooperate. The power to free herself had always, ultimately, been in her hands.

This time, nothing was in her hands. Her breath caught on a hard lump of fear. Revenge, he’d said. She was used to pain. But taking the abuse from this man, who she knew possessed kindness, threatened to break her. Her body began to tremble.

Paenther pulled her to a halt in front of one of the cells and opened it. “Leave us, ” he said to the two men who’d followed them down.

“No can do, Hiawatha, ” Jag drawled.

Paenther glared at him. When he spoke, his voice was hard. “Go back to the gym and shut the door. Both of you. The witch and I are going to have a…discussion. And I won’t have an audience.”

If his words hadn’t told her he meant to hurt her, the tightening of his grip on her arm did. Her mouth went dry, and it was suddenly all she could do not to try to fight her way loose from his hold.

But she’d never get loose, never get away. And the punishment would only be worse if she tried. That was the way it had always been with Birik.

The air didn’t seem to want to go into her lungs.

The pale-eyed man slapped Jag on the back. “Come.” To Paenther he said, “Don’t kill her. Yet.”

As the two huge males walked away, Skye fought the tears that tried to clog her throat. It was so much harder taking cruelty from a man who’d once been kind. Lucian’s betrayal had broken her as Birik’s attacks never had.

Paenther released her arm and pushed her into the cell.

Skye whirled to face him, desperate to try to make him understand. “Please, Paenther. Nothing I did was because I wanted to. Except free you.”

“Shut up, Skye.”

“He controls me. I don’t have a choice. I never have a choice! ”

He grabbed her and pushed her around, pressing her face-first into the rock wall until the cold stone bit into her cheek.

“Shut up! ”

She felt his hand tugging at the hem of her dress and closed her eyes against the burn of tears. He grabbed her buttocks, his fingers digging into her painfully, over and over, first one side then the other.

“Where is it? Where’s your cantric? ” His hands began to grip her thighs, bruising her.

“It was embedded in my heart when I was eight.”

His hand stopped abruptly. “That’s impossible.”

She swallowed hard, remembering the words of his chief. Get rid of her cantric.

“Paenther, please.”

He tugged and pulled at her wrists, and suddenly her arms were free of the binding. Gripping her shoulders, he turned her around roughly, his eyes hard as flint.

“Take off your dress.”

She stared at him. He wasn’t going to kill her. Not yet. Of course not, she thought bitterly. He’d yet to take his revenge.

With shaking hands, she reached for the hem, pulling the fabric up and over her head in a single tug. Nudity didn’t bother her. She was far too used to it. Instead of tossing the dress to the floor, she pulled it against her chest like a shield. No, nudity didn’t bother her. It was why he wanted her naked that terrified her. What punishment did he intend to visit on her body?

Her heart began to pound in hard, erratic thuds. Trembling, she met his hard gaze.

Fire burned in his eyes. And the promise of pain.

As many times as Birik had hurt her, she knew this would be worse. Because Birik was without a soul. He got no more pleasure from hurting her than he did anyone else. In a strange way, it wasn’t personal. And because of that, the pain he inflicted never touched her mind or her heart.

But Paenther wasn’t like Birik. She knew he had kindness in him. She’d felt it. Been warmed by it.

Whatever punishment Paenther chose to mete out would be very, very personal.

When he hurt her, she was going to bleed all the way to her soul.







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